


An Improbable Reality

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Series: 30 Days of Dark Fandom Challenge (ACOTAR) [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Camp, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Everyone wants the D, M/M, Pre-ACOTAR, Rhys is tormented by redheads, Secret Relationship, Then smut, Very background Cazriel, but this time he's into it, camp af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: Rhysand has visited the Autumn Court many times before, but never has he met the new addition to the oh so melodramatic family that resides there. Nor has he ever been quite so easily won over.





	An Improbable Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Not at all drenched in obvious, poorly regurgitated influence from chain-studying Wilde and Shakespeare, honest. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt: Rhycien, Dominance/Submission**

A great deal of preparation was required for visiting the Autumn Court. Rhys had to prepare for Beron’s general pig-headedness, Eris’ arrogance, Lyne’s fittingly fiery temper, Klaus’ immensely peculiar habit of mimicking him in every possible way, from his mannerisms to his clothing to even his accent. The physical readying was nothing compared to the emotional requirements one had to meet to enter a court that played like a perfect melodrama. Honestly, everything over there was better suited to being discovered in improbable fiction than within reality, but there Rhysand found himself, bracing himself.

And it was there he found himself blindsided with something he most certainly had _not_ prepared for. Or, to be more accurate, some _one_.

Flanking Beron’s side was a new addition to the swarm of redheads who plagued Rhysand’s mental wellbeing. This one, though slight, proved to be by far the most dangerous.

He lacked Eris’ broad shoulders, Lyne’s volatile swiftness, and Beron’s experience, yet even as he hung distantly in the background, he seemed to possess more gravitas than the rest of the family combined. It was not the kind of presence that shoved itself down your throat, as Eris and Lyne greatly favoured, for not once did he speak, and he hardly even glanced his visitor’s way. His command lay in the enigmatic stillness that possessed his frame, the absolute calm he exuded amongst the fluster of politics and farcical manners. Rhys was sure he must be the youngest, for he’d never once been introduced to the sidelined heir, and yet his disposition spoke of a maturity beyond his possible years.

Rhys made the fatal mistake of letting him catch his interest.

Yet even as Beron fussed about with ceremonial greetings and made the customary small talk, not once did he or any of his brothers acknowledge the existence of the youngest. They led the procession through out to the veranda that sat out before their infamous gardens, and the enigma merely trailed after, displaying no signs of either hurt or interest. Rather than petulant, he appeared bored. And Rhysand could not stop watching him.

As they all settled upon elegant chairs to chat and play at friends, Rhysand braved betraying his curiosity. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said, positioning himself opposite the new heir. The practiced flow of polite conversation, previously flawless, missed a beat. Still the other showed no concern, still not looking at his guest, but rather glancing at his father.

“Ah. My youngest. Lucien.”

Beron said nothing more. He cleared his throat, ordered refreshments to be served, and launched himself into some tedious speech about horticulture. Beside him, Eris was smirking at the youngest.

Lucien.

When Rhysand had first visited Beron as the new High Lord of the Night Court, he had received at least ten minute resumes about each of his present sons (Eris and Lyne), and most dinner conversation consisted of their achievements. With all the others, they had been written about in letters, sent to give him guided tours of that which he had already visited, and he had sat through more fencing demonstrations and recitals for all of them than anyone could possibly keep track of.

Lucien was left a mystery. Although one new glimpse of information was uncovered; The young heir looked up at him.

Perhaps it was the general air of too-intense claustrophobia that the Autumn Court always invoked, but Rhys found this one simple glance to hold the same power as being punched in the stomach, by Cassian himself no less. Lucien’s eyes were pretty, yes, but nothing special. What left him deaf to the droning around him was how his gaze seemed to penetrate him entirely, as if in one glance he was witnessed as a whole, perceived inside and out, and then the youth was done. The ever so subtle alterations of his face spoke as if he somehow knew him exactly.

And the fraction of a smirk that followed did nothing to ease Rhysand’s nerves.

Whilst he felt he had just been analysed and filed away in an instant, he still knew nothing about the man opposite him. His features still possessed the gentle effeminacy of not quite having left boyhood, though he was taller than all his siblings. He wore the limbs of one fully-grown, but narrowness lingered in the sharp tapering of his wrists, the thin delicacy of his fingers, where he had not yet had time to fill out the body he’d been given. His eyes alone gave the impression of having witnessed centuries; his body couldn’t possibly number years more than twenty.

“You are renowned for a reason, Lord Beron,” Rhysand said, all to aware that studying the mystery in public could cause trouble. “Perhaps in the usual tradition, I could be lucky enough to have another tour around your gardens? Lucien?” He turned to the son in question, who once again avoided his eyes, although the faintest hint of a smirk had returned to his lips. Who he was laughing at, Rhysand wasn’t sure. He intended to find out.

“Father?” Lucien spoke with a voice that matched his eyes rather than his body, jaded and raspy, but forced into an act of airy innocence as he looked to his father. Beron had gone a little pink. It was definitely worth the risk to get to witness that. Perhaps whatever Lucien was could be played to Rhysand’s advantage.

“Of course, you must,” Beron said, though he had never been too skilled an actor, and to say he spoke through gritted teeth would be putting it lightly. When his son rose, he added, “Make sure you talk about our recent innovations.”     

“Certainly, father. There’s so much to say, we shan’t have time to talk about anything else.” The smile was sweet, but Lucien’s tone, polite as it was, dripped with venom.

Just what had Rhysand dropped himself in the middle of?

Linking their arms by the elbow, as if they were women taking a turn about the room, Lucien joined them and was quick to leave the open lawn that sprawled before the others, disappearing amongst the momentous trees and flora. Rhys could hardly protest, when afterall, his intentions were solely to get away from the observant eyes of the rest of the family.

“I hope your mother is well,” Rhys said, trying his hand at small talk to try and glean some further insight. “I didn’t see her in the throne room.”

“She rarely leaves her chambers.” Again, Lucien’s tone gave him nothing to go on. It was as if they really are discussing the bushes, though Rhysand’s skin chilled at the information. “She rather despises my father, so playing house isn’t something she tends towards.”

This was news to Rhysand. In every visit beforehand, Chrysantha was the first to greet him, and his sentiments had been genuine; She was the only delightful part about his previous visits. Never had she shown any hatred of her family, nor her husband, though she had admitted in low voices that they all had their vices. Klaus had been her favourite, and she’d doted on Eris rather obviously until the incident with Morrigan arose. She’d been Rhys’ ally in all debates and agreements with her family, but never had she hinted that she _hated_ any of them.

“I… I’m sorry to hear that.” Dwelling on fond memories of a woman he respected, he forgot who he was talking to for a minute, jolted back to reality by a pair of golden eyes staring at him.

“I’m surprised. You sound like you actually mean that.”

“Of course,” Rhysand said quickly, a little too earnestly considering how he was supposed to be playing ‘the game’ all their courts were eternally locked in. “Your mother is a brilliant woman.”

Lucien brought them to a stop, parting to stand before him. Thankfully, they were far from view, surrounded on all sides and above by dense foliage of copper and pink-gold leaves. “Did you sleep with her?” He asked, with the same matter of fact tone as he used for everything.

“No,” Rhysand balked, thrown by both the bluntness and the question. “Cauldron, no. Your mother was a wonderful friends but I highly doubt she’d ever even consider me as worthy of her chambers. And I… do not see her that way.”

Golden eyes appraised him for a moment, before Lucien smiled. It was far too cheerful and sweet a smile given the topic at hand. “Good,” He said, studying his face once more. This time, however, it seemed less critical, more… admiring. Which should have set of warning sirens in Rhysand’s head, but instead just made him blush. “Else that would make things rather awkward.”

Lucien kissed him. No hesitation whatsoever, none of the shy, bashful smiles he was used to from younger partners, he just dove right in there. It was no chaste trial, either; Soon Lucien’s arms were wrapped around his shoulders and pulling him deeper, Rhysand feeling quite like a maiden in the old songs being swept off her feet by some handsome stranger. It was an incredibly accurate feeling, save for the maiden part, though he was partial to it. Whatever Lucien wanted, he felt more than happy to comply.

“Hmm.” Lucien pulled back without warning and considered him for a terrifyingly long time. Rhysand should be offended, given how he was a notoriously _excellent_ lover gossiped about throughout the kingdom, but instead he was fidgeting and flushing. He had no idea what it meant when Lucien pecked him briskly on the cheek. “My room’s at the top of the East wing Tower. You’re welcome to join me there tonight. Given your abilities, I imagine avoiding detection shouldn’t be too hard.”

As if they had simply agreed to a tea date, he rejoined their arms and led onwards, apparently unaware that Rhysand felt utterly disorientated. The garden might as well have been a barren hellscape for all the attention he could pay to it. “Oh, and just so you’re aware, I’m not typically inclined to be gentle.” Lucien gave him a once over and then returned to apathetically looking straight ahead. “You can wear that, if you like. That shirt’s been driving me mad all morning.”

It proved extremely difficult to believe him on that. Nothing about Lucien seemed to be being ‘driven mad’. Not whilst they finished off their garden tour in silence, nor when they returned to the rest of the court. During dinner, he barely spoke a word, save to inform his father that no, he would not be joining them in the drawing room, as was clearly expected of him. When he excused himself from their company, he did not once glance back at his invited lover.

It drove Rhysand to the point where he had to leave early too, because before he made any decisions about what idiotic night adventures he might go on, he had to rub one out else he might die of maddening arousal. Damn this family. They clearly existed for the sole purpose of unravelling him.

He could pretend to deliberate on the matter. For the purpose of if he was ever questioned about how he dealt with this challenge, he would lament about how he paced back and forth for hours, scratching his head and calling upon The Mother to demand to know why she had thrown this dilemma at him. In fact, when Mor forced the story out of him years later, he even added in some tears and wishing for her guidance (all claims she didn’t believe for a second).

In truth, the second he was done cleaning himself up, he locked his door behind him and whisked himself away. The powers of the High Lord of Night probably weren’t intended for late night rendezvous, but intended or not they did suit his purpose divinely. Unnoticed by the arguing Lyne and Klaus he passed, as well as a dozen servants, he secreted himself away up to the top of the East Tower and knocked upon the door.

It opened to reveal proof that he was, as suspected, doomed.

In the three or so hours they had been parted, Lucien had changed, and recently showered. Water clung to hair and skin so it had a rustic, sexy kind of dishevelment to it, and the loose shirt he wore poured open at the neck, kindly displaying his impossibly beautiful clavicle and sternum. Rhysand didn’t know such things could be impossibly beautiful, but going by how he was half hard already just looking, he was learning something new.

Long red hair tied around itself into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder, Lucien looked him up and down and smiled. Not a careful, hidden smile like before. This one was all kinds of filthy. “You look ravishing,” he said in an undisguised voice, the low purr of it highlighted by how softly he spoke.

Rhysand, he who was famed for his silver tongue, his charisma and charm and wit unrivalled, just gaped like a guppy fish, speechless. Speechless and really, really horny. Rather than mock him like any member of his family certainly would were they to bear witness to this, Lucien laughed in a warm, appreciative manner. “I’ll take that as equal compliment.”

Stepping close, Lucien admired the cut of his face once more, slower this time, savouring, before he ever so gently linked their fingers and drew his visitor into his room, locking the door behind him. “Lovely,” Rhysand choked out with some pathetic gesture to the room to match how pitiful his attempt at feigning detachment was. In all previous encounters, he’d naturally fallen into step as the pursuer, the seducer, the one equipped with all the clever lines. Now he struggled just to swallow.

Where Lucien brushed the very tips of his fingers across his back through the fabric of his shirt, his skin actually tingled. He ought to be fretting over the potential political consequences of this encounter, but uncharacteristically, he found his consciousness utterly rooted in the moment. It resulted in an overwhelming sense of hyper-awareness, so acute he could have sworn he could _feel_ Lucien’s gaze upon him, like sunlight tracing the planes of his skin.

“Relax,” Lucien advised, pressing his palm to the small of his back. His touch glided round to encircle Rhysand’s waist, pulling him close. Once more he pressed the slightest of kisses to Rhys’s jaw, before saying, “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I definitely want to,” Rhysand said, laughing at his own obviousness. The mirroring grin on the other’s face did help to fade the tension from his shoulders, though his heart was still doing double time. “I’m just… curious to know what you had in mind.”

“What a scandalous thing to be curious about,” Lucien teased with a widening smirk, leaning in to trail kisses down the curve of his neck.

“Well, that certainly gives me some clues,” Rhys answered in what mostly managed to be his normal pitched voice, though he could feel it hitching with each light blessing by those lips.

“Oh? And what else have you deduced during your visit, my Lord?” Lucien slipped around him so that they were chest to chest, nearly nose to nose, their gaze meeting briefly before it dropped to eye the collar of his shirt.

‘Fuck all’ didn’t make for a very impressive answer, so Rhysand said, “That you are nothing like your brothers, for a start.”

“Oh I don’t know about that. Klaus seems rather… interested in you. And Eris is always talking about you, bringing you up in every possible conversation.” Could Rhys detect a hint of jealousy?

“But remind me, whose room am I in?”

Chuckling, Lucien set those diverting fingers of his to use upon Rhys’s buttons, taking diligent care to kiss every inch of freshly exposed skin in his progression. “Well answered.”

“I’m not normally quite as dumbfounded as you’ve managed to make me.”

“How disappointing. You’re very charming when you’re stupefied. _Especially_ when you can’t stop staring at me.”

Heat pooling in his cheeks, Rhys watched as Lucien knelt before him and mapped the lines of his abdomen with his hands, marking the waistline of his trousers without relenting to breach the border, so to speak. “So you noticed?” His voice was definitely getting a little breathless now, as he tried to will the rest of his clothing to just disappear.

“Please don’t tell me you were trying to be subtle. Not when you’re supposed to be some formidable prince of darkness.”

“I wondered if you’d heard about my reputation,” Rhysand said as, thank the Cauldron, Lucien slid the belt from his trousers.

“It’s not the kind of thing you can avoid hearing about.”

“You don’t seem too intimidated by it.”

“It’s hard to be scared of someone who looks at me the way you do,” Lucien responded, glancing up at him as he opened the flaps of the material and ran his thumb down the distinct outline of his erection.

Not as embarrassed by his obviousness as he perhaps should be, Rhysand just grinned and shifted in a tremor of pleasure at how good the touch felt. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for puzzles.” He didn't get another witty response to distract himself with, because Lucien already pushed his underwear down and had his mouth around his cock.

It felt like everything inside of him was dissolving to shuddering water, every inch of self control sinking to his groin as tongue and lips and teeth lavished attention upon him. There was surely no way this man was as young as he must be, because not even men and women ten times his age can do _that_ with their throat. Oh Cauldron, Rhys thought as he is powerless to do anything save tip his head back and come like a spring-fresh virgin. He didn’t even last five minutes.

Swallowing, Lucien scraped the heel of his hand across his mouth and smirked in a way devious enough to be worthy of his brothers. “A little desperate, were we?”

“Just making sure to stroke your ego,” Rhys lied smoothly, though his ears were burning. “Just because you’re young, doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you though.”

“Just because I’m young, doesn’t mean I’m inexperienced,” Lucien quipped back with a look of such smug victory on his face that Rhysand finally realised just how infatuated he is. “And who said anything about going easy?”

“You little slut,” Rhys said admiringly, shivering as Lucien nipped at the delicate flesh of his inner thighs.

“People preferring to pretend you don’t exist has its advantages,” He responded, rising as he glided his hands up the back of Rhys’s legs to come to shamelessly grope his ass. “And ‘little’ is a bit premature, don’t you think?”

Laughing harder than he had in years, Rhys put up no resistance as he was dragged over to the bed and pushed down on top of it. “I’d hope you’re not premature _as well_.”

“Hypocrite,” Lucien shot back, unbuttoning his own collar whilst Rhysand stripped him of his braces and unbuckled his trousers. Sniggering as well, he slapped him lightly across his jaw. “Stop laughing, you’ll hurt my young, sensitive feelings.”

“Hmm, I much prefer the sound of sensitive.” Rhys couldn’t resist, even if it did earn him a flick on the nose.

What mattered far more was that Lucien was now shirtless and his torso was a fucking work of art. True, it could be hormones making him biased, but Rhysand was sure he’d never witnessed anything as beguiling as the way his waist tapered down to narrow thighs, the understated way his muscles were underdeveloped, but visible on his lanky frame. He was Cassian’s opposite, and his almost boyish build served only to make his confidence that much more attractive.

“How old _are_ you?” Rhysand finally gave in and asked, since his detective games were getting no where.

“Thirty this summer,” Lucien answered, making the two-hundred year old beneath him feel practically ancient, despite the fact that amongst fae society he was still considered young and inexperienced. “And don’t look so surprised, just because I’m not fixated on swordplay and pounding into soldiers like Eris is.” He smirked. “Although I suppose in a _way_ , I am very much interested in just that.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Rhysand said with a laugh that lost wind when Lucien stroked his hand across his dick and removed the rest of his clothes entirely.

“Big words won’t save you here.” Lucien bent down to kiss him on the lips for the first time, tasting of salt and metal. “But one will. Any preference?”

“Yes. Incorrigible.”

Cackling in a way that somehow still managed to be sexy, he shook his head but said, “Fine. You win. Incorrigible it is. Just so you know though, you’re awful.”

“Well, I have to prove my reputation to you somehow. This seems like a good start.”

“Okay then, prince of darkness.” Lucien lowered his voice as he dipped down to ghost his lips across the prominent ridges of Rhys’s abdominals, looking entirely unthreatened by how Rhysand was twice the width of him and would probably be quite capable of physically snapping the twiglet in half. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Usually, Rhysand was petty as anyone about getting the last word in, but it was difficult to make snarky remarks when a deft finger was circling his ass. He had to admit to being more than a little nervous - No one had ever been ‘there’ save for Cassian, and that had been over a century ago back before he and Azriel had become exclusive. He wasn’t-

“You don’t do this very often, do you?” Lucien intuited, his touch sliding up to encircle the head of his cock instead.

“Not… in this position, no,” He confessed, feeling like he was the younger one as he averted his eyes from the man studying him. Warmth buzzed across his cheekbones, and worst of all was that this intrepidation seemed to be making him hard again.

Stroking his cheek, Lucien leant in and kissed him tenderly on the forehead, then bent to his lips and joined them there. This kiss was different, neither heated nor chatse, distant or delving. It was long, and almost sympathetic somehow, in a way that unknotted the fear binding his muscles tight together. “I’m honoured then, to be so privileged,” Lucien murmured against him. “If you’re willing to-”

“Lucien,” Rhys interrupted. “I think if you stop now I may die of frustration. Besides. That doesn’t sound too… incorrigible.”

Smirking, Lucien nodded in acknowledgement and leant over to his bedside table. He proceeded to sort through various different bottles of lubricant for a good two minutes, leaving Rhysand more stunned by the idea that so many varieties existed than by the idea of what was about to happen. “This will probably suit you best,” Lucien announced as he plucked the winner from the drawer and screwed off the lid. He sounded as matter of fact as he had in the garden, but this time, a wicked smile graced his lips.

Rhys was more than a tadge excited.         

The lube seemingly forgotten, Lucien abandoned it in favour of kissing Rhysand _all_ over, especially in the areas he found to make him whimper and squirm. He was flushed and erect by the time the jar was retrieved, Lucien coating his fingers in the slick clear gel, sliding them between his thighs in promise.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable as he pushed his touch into his ass, though he worked skillfully at loosening him gently. Biting down on his lower lip, hard, Rhys arched his back up and screwed his eyes shut to the point where he was unaware of the process, focused on the sharp, dull-pain of Lucien’s exploration into him, however talented at it he might be. He was out of practice here, far more accomplished with the other role, and yet the remembered-newness of it proved all the more entrancing as his whole body shivered with discomfort.

Without his really noticing, the sensation of being filled melted into a sense of satisfaction, gradually transitioning to something pleasant, something more than pleasant, something he wanted more of, now. “Luce,” he whined into the pillows, hot and flushed and aware that he’d been gasping like a virgin at each delicate touch. “Lucien, I need you to-” Four fingers delving into him silenced him with an accidental moan, which made him really appreciate being at the top of a tower. If anyone heard him like this…

“Oh?” Lucien said in that infuriating airy tone of his, his expression every bit the sly fox as he wiggled the tips of his fingers so that Rhys was shuddering and gasping all over again. “Did you want something?”

“I need you,” Rhys panted, trying to grin through his dizzying elation. “To hurry up and fuck me you arsehole.”

Pushing his hand deeper, hitting that sweet spot that had Rhysand crippling up and swearing colourfully, Lucien smirked all the more. “So, who’s the ‘little slut’ now?” Withdrawing his fingers, he trailed them lightly up his cock and hummed to himself. “I would have thought someone of your breeding could ask a little more politely than that.”

“Please,” Rhys begged without hesitation. He’d forgotten how fucking good it felt to be filled like that, to have someone inside of him, and especially to have someone giving _him_ the orders. “Please, please, _please_ , fucking fuck me.”

“There we go,” Lucien gloated, dipping down to peck him on the forehead. “There’s hope for you yet.” Rhysand wasn’t so sure, because he was pretty confident he was about to die and go to heaven when Lucien eased his own erection into him and ground down into him to the point where he was groaning loud enough for the entire damn palace to hear. He didn’t get much more subtle as the other picked up a rhythm either, completely losing the ability to think straight as it crescendoed all as Lucien dictated. 

Faintly, he realised a hand was knotted in his hair, keeping his head pinned back against the bed. His back was revolting for it, his hips joining the revolution as they bucked back against Lucien’s, forcing him to fuck him deeper so that he could claim to have some semblance of control over the pacing. It was never hard or fast enough though, for he wanted it all and he wanted it now. As utterly as he had failed to resist his curiosity, he could not restrain his eagerness for the other. He wanted everything. He wanted _him_.

He learned something that mission; What they said about the fire court in the bedroom was true. They really live up to the fire of their powers. Lucien, despite his slight frame, had him splayed and trapped across the bed, tugging at his hair so hard it would hurt like hell were he not so high on adrenaline. “Fuck,” he hissed through clamped teeth, desperately trying to redeem himself by not coming first this time.    

As with every attempt on that mission, he failed miserably.

It wasn’t his fault that Lucien pounded into him at the exact right time and hit the exact right spot that had him fucking blind and actually screaming for Cauldron knows how long. All he knew was he felt fan-fucking-tastic, and ever so slowly, came down from the rigid tension of before to sink into the kind of blissful glow he hadn’t felt since his first time with Az and Cass, and that had been fueled by exhausted testosterone triumph when they’d completed their Illyrian trials.

“That was… You are…” He rambled senselessly as Lucien lay down next to him and nuzzled into his shoulders.

“I know,” he answered quite cheerfully. Too bad it was accompanied by that ever so charming devious smile that Rhysand was starting to become familiar with. “Able to stay a little longer?”

“Oh,” Rhysand said, though he wasn’t sure how he would survive. “I think this old man might manage to survive another round.”


End file.
